The Underlying Factor
by The Story Lord
Summary: It's been six months since Bruce has seen anyone but Alfred. Barbara is on vacation from the cowl, and everyone is following their own paths. Suddenly Dick calls out of the blue, with a lot of explaining to do.
1. The Quiet Night

The sun was starting to set at Wayne Manor. The fading light meant only one thing for Bruce Wayne. It was time to suit up. Looking out the large windows in the living room, he sighed. Home had been a lonely place in the past 6 months. Alfred was here, but everyone else had things to do and leads to follow. Dick was in Bludhaven with the Teen Titans, and even though Bruce had called several times, he never answered. He knew Dick was fine. He trusted that he was old enough to take care of himself, as Dick had said years ago. Or at least he hoped he was fine. He couldn't help but worry. Barbara was absent from all things cape related for awhile. Unable to be be neither Batgirl, nor Oracle. She called it a "vacation" and mentioned how he should take one. He refused of course. Justice doesn't take a vacation.

"Going out tonight, Master Bruce?" Alfred entered the room. The nightly worn bat suit draped over one arm.

"Yes, Alfred. I was just thinking about Dick and Barbara. I know where she is, but Dick hasn't returned my calls."

Alfred handed Bruce the suit, and he got dressed quickly.

"Now, Master Bruce, you musn't worry. You did say you trust he'll be fine."

"I know, Alfred. But I can't help but think about it."

"Well, stop thinking about it. You're starting to worry yourself and we don't need any of that. Go about your nightly escapades without fret."

"I shall." He mocked. Alfred huffed, displeased. Bruce would worry. He always worries.

Bruce left through the cave entrance. The Batmobile raced silently down the private road into the back streets of Gotham City. They laid wet with rain, and littered with Autumn leaves piled in apartment gutters, and drainage pipes. He parked the Batmobile in an alley, it armored up and cloaked itself with the touch of a button on his belt. It was the start of a long night. He could feel that much in the air. He grapeled up to the roof top of the apartment building closest to him. The sun was fading away completely. Now only like a slight pink ribbon across the horizon. It was breath taking from such a high elevation. He almost wished that Dick were here to see it with him. It was a peaceful scene.

But those thoughts washed away as the sky darkened, and sirens whaled soon after. Bruce switched on his communicator.

"Alfred?"

"Right here, sir."

"There's been a disturbance on the East side. What is it?"

"Checking."

"Hurry up."

"Ah, your average nightly robbery. The Penny Cafe on Rayne street. Albeit, the police seem to have it taken care of."

"I'll check anyway."

Alfred said nothing else, as Bruce headed across the city to The Penny Cafe on Rayne Street. It was, in fact, your average nightly robbery. The police had it handled too. Nothing but a couple of crooks, looking to make some money the easy way. But a cafe? Why a cafe? There was a jewelry store right across the street. It was a little suspicious, but it could have just been a random choice, or it may have been personal. But either way, it was under control now. Bruce disappeared to another rooftop, listening. The cowl's bat-ears were equipped with extremly sensitive sound projectors. They could pick up the human voice whispering blocks away from his location, and project it back to him just as fast. Bruce had many voices in his cowl that had been analized, recognized, and stored. Later to be "remembered" for any purpose, if necessary. Including Jim Gordon, Barbara Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Harvey Dent, Renee Montoya, Edward Nigma, Richard Grayson, Timothy Drake, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Jimmy Olsen, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Billy Batson, Barda Free, Scott Free, and Diana Prince. There were, of course, many others added to that list. But he couldn't even remember them all. Those were just a few names that came to mind. He thought about the technology he had to work with. It was the very best in all of Gotham. Wayne Tech was the leading corporation in electronics as well as a few others. There wasn't anything better than what he had. This pleased him. So far the night was quiet, and the dark foreboding skies seemed almost sweet.

A soft rain began to patter on the city. No lightning in sight, no thunder at all. Just gentle rain. The little drops of water dripped down the chimneys, and lined the cracks in the sidewalk below. There were suburban houses on this side of Gotham. Big Barda lived in one of them. Or used to. Bruce recalled her many rants about Scott that he had hardly listened to. She was still upset with him, but their relationship wasn't or shouldn't have been his problem. Other problems had wracked his mind at the time. And did she ever ask him about anything? No. Because it wasn't her problem, right? Barda. She only ever thought about what hurt her, and never stopped to think about what might have been hurting him.

Bruce let his thoughts drift. He hardly had the time to reflect anymore. It was just like Alfred said. "One of these days you're going to have no time for yourself, Bruce. Or for anyone. There will be a day when you look back at the time and friends you lost, and you will regret your reckless decisions." Alfred was right, he often was. Now was the time to look back at everything, and regret. But Alfred forgot one thing. Bruce didn't have the time to regret.

He grapeled to rooftops one after another until he returned to the heart of the city. There was no point in lingering. Her office and corporate buildings towered high, reaching far past her dirty old apartments. They shined like beacons. Aglow with their bright company lights, the poor side of town looked like nothing but candle light compared to them. Most of the buildings in Gotham were ancient, and their history, unappreciated or entirely unknown. That was Gotham. Old bricks, from old times, when politicians were decent, when lawyers and district attorneys really believed what they sold, and when Gotham was just plain a better place. Back then, there were still bad people, there were still those who would rather destroy than save, and there was still an evil in it all. But even yet, if it were just 50, maybe a hundred years ago. Gotham wouldn't be the way it is today. With every hour, every minute, that passes. A new malicious crime is committed that plunges this city farther into darkness. People like the Joker, that don't care about life. They don't care about love, money, friends, or happiness. They don't care about anything but the game, and the game never ends. There are always new players, even if old ones fall out. There is always another to take their place. It's the same on both parties. But there is a difference between them. On one side, they are a malevolent, wicked people. Just waiting for a reason to come out of the woodwork. A reason to murder, injure, and torture the innocent, because something happened to them. Something bad. Some of them don't need a reason. Some of them are just that far gone. They don't need a reason to be a vile dishonorable being, unworthy of even a name. Unworthy of every step they take, every breath. But on the other side, they are decent, nomal people. Even though bad things may have happened to them, they broke free from the foul and corrupt. They are just people, yet some wear masks and some wear capes. Decent people, normal people. Bruce is a decent, normal person. Under the cowl, at least. He knows that he has to think like the enemy to defeat the enemy, but in the process, not be the enemy. That means no casualties. No one dies.

Bruce was quiet for awhile, absorbed in thought. There seemed to be nothing happening in Gotham right now. The streets were clear, and no cars lined them like the usual busy night. The traffic lights flashed green to yellow, to red every once in awhile. But there was generally no cars. He did a round check of the city several times in several hours. Now it was getting to be midnight. The city was still as silent as it was when the sun first went down. The prostitutes that regularly walked Adams Street by the old irish pub, and the liquor store weren't out tonight. The Iceburg Lounge that Cobblepot ran as an "out-of-Arkham" business, was shut down in the mean time, and not a single police siren whaled anywhere in all the city. It was certainly unusual. Especially for such a violent place.

Then the bat-signal lit the sky, and Bruce concluded that the peace would be gone soon. He came to the GCPD as quick as possible, assuming it was urgent. Commissioner Gordon stood on the roof next to the bat-signal waiting. He could count on it that Batman would never be late, and he wasn't. Only this time instead of arriving from behind, he arrived from the front, as not to scare the Commissioner again. It didn't work, he still jumped a little. But it was worth a try.

"Jim."

"You just can't stop yourself from jumping out at me, can you?" Jim laughed. Batman did not.

"Is this a social visit, or did you need something?"

"Well, actually. Gotham's pretty quiet tonight. No robberies, except for Rayne Street, no homicide, no nothing. I thought you'd notice."

"I did."

Jim lit a cigarette, and leaned on the new waist-high concrete edging. He looked out at the shimmering city.

"Something wrong, Jim?" Bruce approached cautiously, standing next to him.

"No, I was just thinking. There hasn't been much crime going on. Not a thing. It just makes me wonder, is all."

"I know, I wondered too." He paused. "Who is still in Arkham?"

"If you're thinking about the Joker, don't worry. He's still in there. Along with all the others over the past 6 months, when you dropped them back off."

"All of them?"

"That's right."

"For 6 months, and no one has escaped?"

"Yep."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Well, if you wanna check I got the records. Or you can just go and look yourself."

"No thank you."

Bruce was actually a little shocked that the Joker hadn't escaped yet. Or Scarecrow, or Penguin, or even Mad Hatter. But he took Jim's word for it. He knew that Jim checked on a regular basis ever since the incident with Barbara. He hated the Joker as much as Bruce did.

The two stood in absolute quiet together. No words were exchanged for a solid 6 minutes. Either of them could have left, but there was really nothing else to do. It was slightly awkward. Slightly. Jim puffed his cigarette, and Bruce stood there like a stone gargoyle waiting for something bad to spring up. But nothing did. In fact, the two spent most of the remaining night together, eventually regaining conversation. At somewhere around 4 AM, Bruce finally left and circled the city once more before returning home at 6 AM. Alfred was waiting for him in the cave, as the Batmobile came roaring through the tunnel and coming to an abrupt stop. Bruce got out, removing his cowl.

"Good morning, Master Bruce."

"Good morning, Alfred. I hope you got some sleep."

"Of course. My word, I am not nocturnal."

"Ha."

"Tired?" Alfred inquiried.

"A little, yes."

"Off to bed then, you've been up all hours of the night. You require 8 hours minimum bed rest." Alfred shooed him off to bed, and Bruce obliged. By 1:00 PM he was fully rested and his mind woke him up naturally. He could smell breakfast in the air. Pancakes. Bruce got out of bed and did his morning exercise routine. Push-ups, first thing. Then he headed down stairs, still in his bat-suit. Alfred met him at the bottom of the stair well, glaring. Bruce stopped.

"What did I do?"

"You didn't change. At least act like you're civil, Sir."

"Oh, come on." Bruce whined.

"Shut it, and change into something a bit nicer." Alfred one again shooed him back to the bedroom, where Alfred handed him "something a bit nicer" to wear. It was his usual casual clothes. Tight black long sleeved shirt, black pants, and black dress shoes. All very expensive. Breakfast awaited him downstairs, and Bruce happily came down to it. It was pancakes, like he predicted. They were fluffy, and delicious. He pointed it out to Alfred, complimenting his fantastic cooking to regain household peace. It worked. The rest of the day was going to be spent researching, if something hadn't ruined that. But it did. As Bruce was leaving the room, the doorbell rang. Alfred went for it, but Bruce got there first. Harvey Dent stood there on his doorstep, hands in his pockets.

"Afternoon, Bruce."

"Harvey." He acknowledged.

"You're not busy are you?"

"No, I just woke up. Come in."

Harvey followed Bruce inside to the living room. Bruce wondered silently to himself, why Harvey might be here. What he wanted. It hadn't been long since Bruce had revealed his true identity to Harvey. It hadn't been long since he'd joined the Justice League either. There was reason to be wary. Harvey was known to fall back into old habits. He wasn't in control, half the time. No pun intended. But Bruce remained calm and cautious, as Harvey talked about the court that he had recently been to. He talked about how it felt being district attorney again. Just casual conversation, and it lead to nothing. It seemed more like a social visit. Bruce's mind slowly drifted away, and he only caught bits and pieces of the conversation. He was in a hundred other places. Bludhaven was one of them.

"Bruce, are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

With that, he snapped back to reality. He had almost forgotten Harvey was talking to him.

"Sorry, Harvey. I have some things on my mind. What were you saying?"

"Nevermind. It wasn't important. But I was wondering if-"

His sentence was cut off by a cell phone ringing. Bruce looked at the caller ID. It was Dick. Finally, he called.

"I have to take this."

Harvey sighed, and showed himself to the door, but Bruce didn't notice. He was just suddenly too busy. Too worried.

"Dick?"

"That's me."

"Why haven't you called me? It's been 6 months."

"Didn't have the time."

"Didn't have the time?" Bruce frowned.

"Hey, you know how it goes. I've been chasing leads and leads. Lead after lead! I feel like I'm being lead on."

Dick sounded tired.

"Why did you call? Why now?"

"Why not here? Why not now?"

"Stop fooling around. I want an answer."

There was a pause on the other line, as if Dick had to stop and think for a moment.

"Yeah, that's difficult to explain while not in person. But I can be there in 5. I guess I just called as a warning or something. I don't really know. See you in 5."

"Dick-"

But he had already hung up. He would be on his way, and Bruce still needed to do a bit of research before going out again tonight. But he was also worried about what information Dick would bring back to him. It could be something serious, considering he had been away for 6 months. No phone calls, no contact. If Dick hadn't contacted Bruce, he likely hadn't contacted anyone else he knew very well.


	2. Unexpected Explanations

Bruce watched Dick roar into the Batcave on his beat up motorcycle. It had countless bullet holes in it, somehow missing everything important, like the gas tank and tires. There were slashes in the metal, and large scrapes on both sides. Dick was in somewhat better shape, with part of his mask torn off around his left eye, various bruises, tears in his costume, and a cut on his lower lip. But he seemed to be alright, although he looked shaken.

"Dick, _what happened_?"

Bruce left his seat at the Batcomputer, and came over despite knowing full well that he would survive his small wounds. He was now quite curious as to what Dick's explanation was going to be.

"_Boy, have I got a story for you_."

"You need to _explain_."

Dick sat down in the Batcomputer chair, to rest for a minute.

"You better sit tight, boss. It's a long annoying pain in the keister, that I'm sure you'll probably not like at all."

Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. He was so worried, that he just allowed himself to be absorbed in his concern. He watched as the look in Dick's eyes went from playful, to focused. Good, at least he was focusing now.

"You remember 6 months ago, I left."

"Yes, with the Teen Titans."

"No."

"What? What- what do you mean "_no_"? You _lied_ to me? _Dick_." This was upsetting news, since lying was entirely unacceptable. It gets people killed. Bruce thought that Dick should have told him before making impulsive decisions, like leaving somewhere, likely on a lead much too dangerous for one lone man. He was angry now, but still worried of the following events.

"Just_ listen_, will you?" Dick gripped the arm of the chair and leaned in to Bruce.

"_I'm listening_." He'd scold him later.

"Okay, I didn't go to Bludhaven. I took a plane to England, so I could follow a lead. It was a pretty big deal, and I knew that if you knew I was chasing something like this, you'd_ kill _me." He paused for breath, still tired.

"_Go on_."

"I didn't want you to know, because I thought I could handle it."

"So you_ lied _to me." Bruce took a breath, to keep composure. Losing his temper right now wasn't going to solve anything.

"So I lied to you. Now, the lead I was chasing was very important to me. Important _for_ me. For _Bludhaven_. At first, I thought it was _just _Bludhaven. I thought that it was secluded, but_ it's not_." Dick's manner changed, and something flashed in his eyes. He leaned on the arm of the chair with his head in his hands. Dick wasn't telling him everything. Bruce _needed_ Dick to tell him _everything that happened_. What on Earth was he talking about? It wasn't making sense. What had happened?

"_Talk_, Dick."

"I know, I know. It was something that I didn't _think_ could be as big of a _problem_ as it was." He pulled his hands from his face, and crossed his arms. There was a look in Dick's eyes that Bruce thought to be strange. It was a rare look. But now it seemed so _exaggerated_. If he wasn't mistaken, it was _fear_. Seeing his eyes flick around the room, dash into the shadows, and back again. It was unnerving. At the beginning of their conversation, he seemed tired, but okay. Now, Bruce could see that there was some dark underlying factor to it all.

"What was the lead? What's the story? Why England?" Bruce knew he was asking too many questions at once, but he grew impatient and he wasn't getting the answers that he needed to help him.

"I had some dirt on this guy named Marcus Keins. German. Blond hair, brown eyes. He was a bartender in Bludhaven. I used to work with him."

"A friend?"

"No, not really. He was real quiet. Never talked. _Super_ creepy dude. _None_ of the waitresses liked him, and we got _complaints from the customers _about him." Dick seemed to be calmer now.

"Why?"

"They said he would just stare at them from behind the bar, or come up to them, and ask them creepy stuff. Like, "Are you breathing?" or he'd just plain stare at them. I didn't bother to figure him out, until he actually got fired for harrassing customers. I thought he was just a weird guy, but when he left on his last day, he finally said something. "None of you are coming in to work tomorrow." That's what he said. So I thought I'd follow him home to make sure he wasn't planning on _straight up murder_. Turns out, he had his _ex wife _stuffed in his_ freezer_. I figured that out by checking for something that might have contributed to his strange behavior. Maybe some kind of _over-investment _in drugs. Nope, none of that. Apparently, he was a serial killer in Germany, but he moved here some years ago, and changed his name to _Marcus Keins_. It was originally _Jack Schottz_. I restrained him, and got his evil butt down to the Police Department."

"_And?_ _How does he come into the picture?_"

"He escaped from his holding cell during the night. Somehow, he was able to get his grubby hands on some _sulpheric acid_. He melted his way through the _wall_. That was the last I saw of him until a month later. I got a tip from an anonymous individual. They told me that he had been spotted lurking around in England. But that he was home now, and that he wasn't going to be _alive_ much longer. They said that if I tried to_ stop them_, they would have their revenge or whatever. _I had to find this guy_. I mean, I couldn't let him _die_. _I couldn't do that_." The panick, the fear in Dick's eyes began to resurface, and he started to tap his fingers on his arms.

Bruce saw how delicate the situation was becoming. He needed to reassure Dick, even if he didn't know what was happening.

"Just tell me what you did next. _It's fine_. I'm _here_, and _I'm listening_." His tone was more soothing than before. Dick took a breath, and continued.

"I searched the city, and found nothing. I was kinda freaking out, because I didn't know what to do. In minutes, there was a broadcast all over Bludhaven. It showed Marcus being submersed in some vat of chemicals. He died in front of thousands of people._ I couldn't stop it, Bruce_."

"It's okay, I _know_. Keep talking."

"There was a message on the screen: "_Prepare for Nahtiavel_" At first, I thought this was some cult practice. But it wasn't. The broadcast came all the way from England. But I didn't know where in England. I flew there, followed some leads. I knew it was going to be dangerous, _of course_. I was sailing in uncharted waters by that time. But I had to find out what Marcus, a serial killer, had to do with these people, and this _Nahtiavel_ thing. Whatever it was, I thought it was a huge threat on Bludhaven. Which it was. But the thing I _didn't know_..The thing I was missing. It wasn't in England. So I took a flight to _Japan_."

"What's in Japan?"

Dick wavered in the chair, and gently put his head in his hands.

"_God.._"

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I'm just dizzy. I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"We need to talk about this _now_."

Bruce moved back, to give him some space. This whole thing was odd, but it needed to be discussed. It couldn't wait.

"Yeah, yeah..I got to the airport, and this girl was waiting for me. She wasn't Japanese. Not even Asian. She spoke perfect English, and she had dark brown hair. She told me her name was _Draekoni N_., and that's all I knew about her at the time. She escourted me out of the airport, and I was curious, so I went without issue."

"You should have thought that through."

"I know, please don't take this time to lecture me. Carrying on; I let her have her say once we were outside. She told me that "_The First Plague_" was about to begin. That Japan wasn't safe. I only came to Japan on a hunch, and a few codes we managed to decipher."

"_We?_"

"Tim and I. I never told him why, although he asked. Several hundred times. _Relentlessly_."

"Continue.."

"Yes, so anyway, we got the idea that these people had another base of operations. I got all the information, and let Tim off the hook. Back to the situation with _Draekoni N._, she slid me a card, which I found out later, had these tapes on it. These really _strange_ tapes. Just two guys in grey cloaks. I'm not even sure what language they're speaking. It doesn't translate to or from anything on the web. I thought it was Latin at first, but it wasn't. I still don't know what it means, but _I know what's coming_."

That fear and tension resurfaced in his eyes. Dick did his best to stay calm, cool, and collected.

"Can you _show me _these tapes?"

"No, no. They were handled files, and I lost them immediately after I watched them. They were erased by whoever made them..Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"I said, that I know what's coming. I do._ It's going to kill this city_."

"What's coming?"

"_A_ _war_."


	3. A Strike of Clarity

It had been 12 days since Bruce last talked to Dick. The conversation with him still echoed across his mind. "A war." He remembered the words loud and clear, like chiming bells. But now as the dark night skies over Gotham drenched the city in a heavy rain, he remembered the way his own thoughts had been his enemy so recently. The way they clouded his eyes, and carried him away on the currents of a daydream. Daydreams about change, and peace of mind. Things he found so difficult to find lately.

This "war" couldn't have decided to come at a worse time. Bruce didn't know if he was capable enough or focused enough to combat anyone at all, really. Besides the petty thieves and gunmen he ran into nearly every night. They were nothing. Just dust drifting in the air, and catching in the lungs of the city. It was easy, and normally, he'd say it was too easy. But the wind blew hard and cold that night, and Bruce was not willing to brace himself against it.

From the comfort of the empty Clock Tower, Oracle's base of operations, he watched the steady fall of droplets down the windows. Why he felt the way he did, he knew. But it just seemed to ridiculous of a reason to spend his days in a sorrowful haze, and his nights in a drowning recession. Alfred noticed. He had a knack for observation, and was very skilled at it. Especially when it came to those he felt he must protect. One way or another. Even if little Master Bruce was no longer little, and even if he was quite stubborn a man about it. Which was always the case, except for lately. He had been absorbed by his unmentionable sorrow, and had let it take control. A thing he knew was dangerous in his line of work.

His hardened heart had softened under the weight of this ridiculous reason this past year. He couldn't resist the comfort of Alfred's voice most of the time, and the mention of certain names seemed to cut a piece of his soul away. Nothing had gone as expected. And worst of all, none of his tricks worked on himself. He didn't know how to make himself clear away the fog, or swim through the sinking of his mind. He was not in control of himself, and that scared him through and through.

It was as if his thoughts were no longer his own.

Bruce let out a sigh, and pulled his mask off. It was pointless to wear when he wasn't even going to leave the tower this time. Barbara's words echoed in his ears, and then his own words came rushing back like a cold wave. "Justice doesn't take a vacation." Yet here he was. Sitting in a chair and watching the rain fall outside. He had betrayed himself. No longer was he strong enough to bloody the deserving faces of criminals infesting the city he loved. He felt he had betrayed his purpose. Now how could he fight a war? Just as a tear formed in the corner of his eye, the sudden 'ping' sound from his phone alerted him of a text from Harvey Dent. A man who was supposed to be his best friend, at least once upon a time. Only then did he notice all the missed calls from him.

The text read: "_Hey, you busy? I need to tell you something._"

Bruce felt the tear fall down his cheek in rhythm with the rain. He hadn't seen Harvey since the day Dick had called him. In his worry for his son, he forgot about his friend. Realizing this, he knew that he wasn't acting right. He wasn't treating others right. Especially those he had promised to be there for, just as much as they were for him. That was wrong. He knew it was. But what could he say, "no?" He struggled with a reply.

Bruce replied: "_Can you tell me now?_"

Harvey responded moments later: "_No. No record._"

Bruce took a deep breath, wondering what his friend had gotten into that was this difficult to discuss over text. In truth, he dreaded facing any more problems. It seemed that so many had already fallen into his hands. They were as plentiful as grains of sand in his fists. He could barely clasp them all, but couldn't let them go either.

Shadows leapt out of sight as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, flashing pale against his skin. Illuminating the room for merely a second before leaving it in darkness again. This repeated over and over as the storm fought an invisible battle beyond the tops of buildings. The 'ping' sound from his phone repeated over and over as Bruce closed his eyes, wishing he could wipe it all away like dust from a window. He wished it would evaporate like dew in the sweet Summer's morn, or the mists of Autumn. But he knew better. This was a daydream.

This was a terrible escape. It was all things unrealistic, and it was so wrong to think this way. But he was tired. No, _exhausted_. He just wanted to sleep in that moment. Head laid gently back, he let go of his consciousness and fell into a nightmare.

He walked down dark roads devoid of people and any traces of them. Clean, smooth streets of black pavement. An untainted city, but lost of all it's beauty. Because no one was there. Was it abandoned before it could be ruined? Was it built and left as a spectacle for passersby? At first, this walk was peaceful. Yet an odd feeling lingered in the air. One that told him it was soon going to change. Then just as the wind shifted, the ground cracked open beneath him and he plummeted into the deep Earth. Hands in the walls reached for him and screamed with all the pain they could muster. Somewhere in the maze of voices, he swore he heard Barbara crying out to him, and distantly, he swore he heard Harvey's anguished shouts and curses. The city above his head bursted into raging flames, as the ground began to close in on him long before he hit the bottom.

He awoke with a sudden inhale. His heart felt as if it were barely beating, nearly collapsing, and only picking up the pace of a dove's delicate flight. The air in his lungs felt very stiff, and each muscle in his body ached from the bolt of fear plaguing his body. He cursed himself. Standing, he glanced at the phone still idle in his closed fist. He decided to just call Harvey.

The phone rang.

"It's late." The voice answered.

"I know, I- I fell asleep." The images his subconscious conjured still sat with him.

"We need to talk, Bruce. It's important. But it can wait one more night at least." Harvey's tone was calm and steady, but Bruce had known him too long to dismiss the obvious fact that he was worried.

"Of course, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. I was busy." The words tasted like a lie on his tongue, and it almost bothered him. But what else could he say?

"Yeah, apologies later. My place at noon tomorrow. We'll get coffee. I think you'll need it."

"Alright." It felt like all he could say.

"Get some _real_ sleep, Bruce. Goodnight."

And in that, there was a tinge of sadness. Because he knew. He knew that Bruce wouldn't, and he wouldn't either. Because neither of them had any strength to resist nightmares and daydreams. The nights were not good and the days were not dreams. The crushing reality of it all rushed like a river through his veins, and Harvey's words struck a clarity within him as if it were the pale lightning against the sky.

He had to fix this.

Bruce felt some of the fog clear, and he felt his own thoughts just within his grasp. A fear of failing suddenly flowed through him, and he began a rapid list of all that he could think was broken. He decided that he would follow its commands and run in the direction it told him to. Because he had to fix this. It had to be done, or nothing would change.


End file.
